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Role PMs are out.
Please take a moment to familiarise yourself with the Setup, especially the "Other Setup Notes".
We will begin at 11/13 confirmations.


Received so far: 11/11.

Edgy noir roleplay is heartily encouraged, but entirely optional.

A cable car glides, nonchalantly, down the mountain. The wintry fog rises up to meet it, slowly smothering its metal form, until it can be seen no more. From further up the mountain, a man watches. His stern face is semi-obscured by a fedora, most of the rest of his form similarly masked by a trenchcoat. The outfit appears has some utility for the harsh environment, but the man is clearly preoccupied with some nostalgic sense of fashion.

He lowers a cigar from this mouth, taking a reflective moment before letting out a long exhale. Tendrils of smoke billow from his mouth, desperately clinging at the air as they rise, before they too disappear. For a long, pensive moment, the man is alone. Nothing but the perpetual sound of wind whistling through the mountains.

He raises the cigar to his lips, ready to inhale again, but pauses. Another figure is coming his way. From the cable car station, a younger man approaches. He seems more appropriately dressed for the weather. The older man lowers his cigar. He stays exactly where he is, like some cheesy mannequin, waiting for the young man to climb to his location.

"G- good afternoon," The young man says, catching his breath slightly. He looks around himself: the man with the cigar, the mountains coated in fog, the humble mountainside home just a minute away. "You must be Detective Clark?" He holds out a gloved hand in the older man's direction.

The detective looks back at the young man, as if sizing him up, before he acknowledges the greeting. "Not for many years. Please, call me Miles." He takes the younger man's hand in a firm shake. "You must be Carl Knight."

"Ah, yes, of course. Mrs. Stone--"

"Miss." The older man interrupts, firmly but not uncordially. "Miss Stone did tell me to expect you." Letting the young man's hand go, Miles turns towards the house, beckoning him to follow. "Please, come with me. It's warmer inside, and you look like you could use a drink." Not waiting for an answer, he sets off.

Carl follows him, his enthusiastic stride easily matching the slow, deliberate movements of the former detective.

"So, the rumours are true." Carl says, nearing the house. "When I heard that the legendary Detective Miles Clark had retired to the Alps, I thought I'd been had on." He paused, hoping for the older man to contribute something, but was quickly disappointed. "But the more I followed the bread crumbs, the more real it seemed to be. And now, here you are, in the flesh!"

Miles doesn't respond. Instead, he raises his cigar to his lips, allowing himself another long draw before closing in on his home, its dark facade only scarcely more inviting than the mountains around them.

"I've been lucky enough to find peace and solitude," He says, at last, his words delivering a killing blow to the tension. "You've met my housekeeper, Natalie Stone. Besides her, I've not seen another person in two years." He glances at Carl. His voice is friendly enough, but the shadow of his hat obscures his facial expression. "Until now, it seems."

Taking the last few careful strides to the front door, he pushes it open, signalling for the other man to come inside. Carl gladly obliges him, almost pouncing through the front door. Mere moments later, Miles follows him, pushing the door shut behind himself. For a moment, the pair are covered in near-darkness, save a sliver of light from a small window above the door.

"Of course. I'm a journalist, you see." Carl rummages through his pockets, looking for something to use as a light. "Or an aspiring one, you see. I'm hoping to publish a piece on an investigation you were involved in, back in 2020."

Like an explosion, light appears. Miles hovers his struck match above a wide candle. As the wick catches, hallway finally becomes visible. It is nigh empty, save for the long shadows painted along the walls. As the flame dances around the wick, so too do their shadows dance around each other, as if to stop would be to die.

Passing the candlestick to Carl, Miles removes his hat, placing it on a coat stand by the door. He begins striding down the hallway, making no suggestion that Carl should follow him.

"I'll start the fire." He pushes a door open, the soft creak of its hinges as loud as a scream in the quiet of the house. He watches Carl, expectantly, his face gaunt and colourless in the stretched light of the candle. "I suppose you'll be wanting to hear the story of Open 794."

vote count 1.00

Not voting: GeniusGamer, Tayl0r Swift, bob3141, Not_Mafia, ManWithNoName, Dongempire, Bambi Jay, NorwegianboyEE, MURDERCAT, Battle Mage, PenguinPower, Isis, Lost

Deadline: (expired on 2020-09-19 07:30:00)


mod notes:
- day one begins!
- quack?